


Mystery at Hazel Grove

by Alona



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 09:45:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4343726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alona/pseuds/Alona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Emma and Arabella rent a cottage and become embroiled in a small domestic mystery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mystery at Hazel Grove

In the early spring of 1818, two married ladies rented a cottage in the village of Hazelden, in ——shire. The exact circumstances of their marriages were such as gave the neighbourhood pause in admitting them to that degree of respectability ordinarily conferred by the married state: one lady had misplaced her husband altogether, though after a fortnight's sampling of her pleasing manners and lively wit Mrs Strange's new acquaintance saw fit to pardon her this singular want of care; with Lady Pole the gossips of Hazelden were on less certain ground, for the reports from London only murmured, indistinctly, of "a separation," and the lady's fierce looks stilled the needling questions on her would-be accusers' tongues. Everyone wondered that two women with the reputation of being very wealthy would chuse such a retired and ill-favoured place for their holiday rather than settle in one of the fashionable watering places.

Meanwhile the ladies were established in Lane's End Cottage. They had taken it for three months. By the end of the same fortnight that acquitted one of them in the public mind, they were convinced the cottage would more than answer their needs. Its furnishings were not extravagant, but they allowed of minor improvements such as Arabella rejoiced in formulating and carrying out; her activity in this vein did much to take her among the citizens of the village and recommend her to their notice. Emma found the cottage garden grown a little wild but expected that as the season wore on it could be made to yield considerable produce and beauty under the management of a skilled cultivator; she set to work with enormous zeal, and the sight of the elegant Lady Pole wielding spade or shears became a familiar one to neighbours passing near to the end of the lane.1

From Hazel Grove, the great house of the neighbourhood, they had been granted permission by the absent owner to borrow its horses just so often as they pleased; they profited by this offer nearly every fine day. It was observed that Lady Pole kept a very fine seat upon a horse, though an inclination to reckless riding continued to damage her reputation with all but the small girls and boys of Hazelden, who were much taken with her; and Mrs Strange rode very well indeed – she was a country girl, she explained when complimented upon it – though she had not her companion's passion for the exercise.

On the whole the two ladies were very pleased with the change in their situation. It had been a dreary season for them in London, with the winter gloom pressing heavily on their spirits. Emma, though wretched, had kept busy with her political schemes, not minding that she found herself snubbed as often as not2; but Arabella, despite all her best efforts at cheerfulness, had suffered from a nervous agitation that veiled her days and nights and kept her from sitting down to any useful occupation. Emma had prescribed a change of scene, a sojourn among genial strangers; she had reached out to her circle of acquaintance; an opportunity had been offered and a bargain struck, facilitated by a friend of her mother of whom Emma bore some not unpleasant memories.

This friend was a Mrs Glasspoole, a widowed lady whose eldest daughter had married Mr Barry of Hazel Grove. A gregarious soul, she found her children's home more congenial than her own. It was her arrival at the end of that first fortnight which signalled to Emma and Arabella the return of the great house's family from their visit in a neighbouring county.

"My, you've fitted up this dingy parlour so it is almost snug!" she said, when she had been seated and supplied with refreshment. "I never should have chosen that pale green for the curtains myself, but they surely do make the ceilings look not half so low and looming. But I do not think they wash well?"

The late Mr Glasspoole had been a linen-draper; Mrs Glasspoole had interested herself in his business while he lived and had sold it to great profit upon his death. She was a tall, stout lady of fifty, gifted with tremendous energy; lacking any refinement, she was so happily unconscious of the deficiency that only the mean-spirited could fault her for it. Emma, though finding her rather foolish, had always admitted her to be entertaining company, so long as she was not engaged in the deplorable practice of matchmaking.

"Our Mary is very careful about curtains," said Arabella, "and I am glad the little changes I have made please you, madam."

"Oh! to be sure!" said the venerable lady. "I've heard from everyone I have seen so far – I am sorry to say you were not my first visit! When one has so many friends, you know! – I have heard ceaselessly what excellent taste Mrs Strange has; and I see nothing to give the lie to that general opinion. Well, and will you ladies come?"

"Come, madam?" asked Emma. "Come where?"

"How foolish of me! Haven't I said? Tomorrow evening Robert is giving a supper party – a small affair, a few intimate friends to be present – and we would so like your company! It is wonderful to have new neighbours, especially such young and handsome ones. To be sure, the retired parson and his spinster sister who had the place last were not – that is, they were very high-minded, good sort of people, I am sure – but as for making up a card table with them! Banish the thought! We did once have a bit of fun at their expense – a harmless joke – we invited them to dinner along with a – well, anyway, how we laughed when they had gone! Their faces!"

Mrs Glasspoole continued in this vein and others for some time before a pause in her discourse gave Emma and Arabella the opportunity of accepting her invitation, with appropriate recognition of its kindness.

"Nonsense! We shall be so pleased to have you. Shall I send William to fetch you with the carriage? The walk is nothing to me, but I find modern young ladies are delicate, mincing creatures and fear the evening dews."

"Indeed no," said Arabella, with a small laugh. "We at least are not so delicate – but, then, neither are we so very young."

"We will happily walk," said Emma. "Your evenings here are so mild, I am sure they can do us no harm."

This proof of spirit was the last thing needed to secure to the two ladies Mrs Glasspoole's good opinion. First of all she had had William the coachman's glowing account of their merits in horsemanship; then Hazel Grove's gardener Albert had told her how knowledgeable Lady Pole was concerning plants, and how willing to consult his greater experience, though often arguing fine points; and from every shopkeeper and farmer in the vicinity she had heard what a polite and well-spoken customer Mrs Strange was. Mrs Glasspoole had come prepared to find them both charming; she left regretting only that their uncertain situations prevented her seeking out husbands for them.

 

The following evening Emma and Arabella dressed with particular care before setting out to cover the half mile between the cottage and the house. The air was clear and cool, the ground firm, and they had no reason to regret turning down the offered carriage.

"I wish we knew better what company to expect," said Arabella.

Emma took in her companion's troubled profile and thought she could guess the source of her apprehension.

"You must not think it will be like the London parties. You have said yourself how well-meaning and gentle everyone we have so far encountered has been. Hardly anyone has made an untoward reference to Mr Strange – the best part of them have taken conscientiousness so far as to avoid all mention of magic."

"If I could believe this company would be more of the same, I would be easier. Do you know anything of Mr and Mrs Barry?"

"I have not seen Maria since she was a nervous little wisp of seven. I was quite a mature thirteen at the time, besides already beginning to be quite ill, so I am afraid I did not make any effort to probe her character, such as it was at that age. Mr Barry I know practically nothing about, beyond the fact of his having come into the property by an unlikely series of events3; that, and the circumstance of Mrs Glasspoole being fond of him, which suggests a certain character of a man."

Arabella wondered whether the character suggested to her companion was a good, bad, or indifferent one, but she did not ask. While she had become inured after a time to Emma's harsh judgments of men, she was none the less assiduous in avoiding fresh displays. Try as she might to sympathise with Emma's views, she could not believe men so generally bad.

The house at Hazel Grove was an uninspiring piece of architecture that had suffered from a series of improvement-minded owners; but it was tastefully appointed within and well-suited for hospitality. The ladies were met at the door by Mr Barry, who struck them both as being the masculine counterpart to Mrs Glasspoole: boisterous, friendly, and unburdened by the presence of a single thought in his head. He enthused about the addition they would make to the neighbourhood; he hoped everything had been done by all his servants that could be done to promote the ladies' comfort; he led them, one on each arm, to the sitting room where the other diners were already waiting to be called in to supper.

Besides Mrs Glasspoole, whose voice had been heard at a considerable distance from the door, the room contained two ladies and two gentlemen. One of the gentlemen was a sleek, cool-looking man of five and thirty, presented to them as Captain Neale, who had a large estate some twelve miles north of Hazelden. One of the ladies was his wife: a very young woman, but well-grown, of a blooming, overflowing beauty such as Rubens would have gladly painted; her manner was markedly reserved, even indifferent; she hardly spoke during her introduction. The other gentleman was Mr Montague Neale, Captain Neale's younger brother; as he opened the acquaintance with a poorly turned joke of the crudest sort, Emma set him down at once as an excrescence, and Arabella hoped fervently she would not be seated near him at supper; this despite Mrs Glasspoole's whispered recommendation that he was quite a wealthy young man in his own right, and kept a barouche.

"And this is my wife's sister, Miss Glasspoole."

The final lady, a slim girl no older than twenty, met them with an expression of pained eagerness.

"Are you really the wife of Jonathan Strange?" she asked.

Arabella said that it was so.

"Jonathan Strange the magician?"

Arabella could not deny it.

"And is it true that he sold you to a fairy for the secret to eternal life?"

Arabella stared at her, quite unable to meet this novel attack.

"Really, Diana!" said Mr Barry.

"Well, isn't it true, then?"

Emma stepped between Miss Glasspoole and Arabella. "I am afraid you have been listening to rumour, Miss Glasspoole. In future you would do well to examine everything you hear for credibility, and then to think further before you repeat it."

"But it is not merely rumour," said Mr Neale, "that says _you_ were brought back from the dead, my lady. And I see enough of the lower sort of newspaper to know other accusations come directly from you – unless, as I have maintained all along, it is your husband who writes all those strongly-worded missives. It certainly is _incredible_ that a lady should express herself in such a style."

"If that is what you believe, you have been deceiving yourself," said Emma. "Perhaps some conversation with me will convince you of your error."

Mrs Glasspoole here intervened, whether by chance or design. "You may wonder that my elder daughter is not here to greet you. It must seem most strange, perhaps even slighting. Well, I am afraid she is often indisposed. Not ill, you know, only out of humour. Going into company pains her. Our recent trip has knocked her up entirely!"

"She is a nervous little creature, my wife," said Mr Barry, shaking his head. "But a good, kindly soul, and she reads so beautifully! I don't think I ever understood Shakespeare before she read it to me, and that, you know, is how I came to be in love with her. I do not mind her little airs so much. I am fortunate in having the most excellent of mother-in-laws here to supply her services as hostess."

"Robert is very kind to me, you see," said Mrs Glasspoole. "I don't do such a very bad job, I think. And my Diana is a great help, of course, even if she does say everything that comes into her head!"

Arabella, recovered from her confusion, could not help a glance at Miss Glasspoole's face to see how she took this attack on her character; but Miss Glasspoole did not appear to mind; she had met Emma's rebuke without a blush and had seemed rather excited about the prospect of a quarrel between Emma and Mr Neale. Arabella concluded that she must be a very silly young woman and formed a plan of keeping any conversation with her to mild, uncontroversial topics.

"Still, I should like to see Mrs Barry," said Emma, "if she should feel equal to the meeting?"

In truth there was cause in the husband and mother's accounts for Emma to be troubled on Mrs Barry's behalf.

"She is quite eager to see you, too, dear lady," said Mrs Glasspoole. "Perhaps you will call tomorrow morning? She is often much better for a sound night's sleep."

Emma promised that she would call, and asked Mrs Glasspoole to convey her compliments to her daughter.

Supper was announced. Mr Barry encouraged everyone to take themselves in, the inequality of the party making it ridiculous to think of the gentlemen leading in the ladies. "We do not stand very much on ceremony here," he said. "I hope you may not find us too odiously rusticated. Only it is always so pleasant to have a great number of young ladies at a party, don't you find? And then, if there is to be dancing, ladies are always happy to dance with each other, which is so pleasant to see. Not so when there are too many gentleman in a party!"

He seated the ladies from the cottage either side of himself. Arabella found Mrs Glasspoole on her other side and counted herself fortunate.

"No, Diana, not there, my love," called Mrs Glasspoole across the table. "Your place is between the captain and Mr Neale."

Miss Glasspoole, who had been on the point of taking a seat by Mrs Neale, moved one place over with a disdainful shrug.

The meal did not begin inauspiciously. Arabella and Mrs Glasspoole spent the first part happily engrossed in a discussion of domestic arrangements, to which Mr Barry from time to time made a half-informed contribution. Miss Glasspoole seemed to have no difficulty engaging the two visiting gentlemen's attention. Emma found horses a safe subject upon which to keep Mr Barry talking, and an occasional leavening of politics did not sour his conversation. For a brief span the late war was generally canvassed, and Captain Neale spoke with decorous modesty of his part in it. In all no danger seemed looming, until the conversation turned to magic. It was quite impossible to tell how the topic had arisen, though more than one of the diners suspected Miss Glasspoole of introducing it.

Captain Neale cleared his throat importantly. "I myself happen to have quite a curious object in my possession, a family heirloom of great reputed magical power."

"Must you, George?" said Mr Neale, shifting uneasily.

His brother was undeterred. "My grandfather bequeathed it to me on his death-bed. Of course, I am no magician, but I have ever been sensible of the great worth of this object. It is a stone, a fine agate, which, as you see, I have recently had set into a necklace that one of my most prized possessions may adorn a possession of infinitely greater value." He smiled across the table at his wife.

Emma, who was seated by her, noticed for the first time a thin gold chain around her neck with an unremarkable stone of mottled green and cream hanging from it, somewhat lost upon the lady's impressive breast. Mrs Neale did not appear to be following the conversation; she was focused on her boiled turbot with an intensity that suggested no one else was present in the room.

Mrs Glasspoole leaned over to Arabella and said confidingly, "There's no more magic in that thing than in my big toe, I'll warrant. Everyone knows it is only a bit of rock he bought from a charlatan when he was a stupid young man. I wonder that he can stand to crow about it like this! And that nonsense about his grandfather! Young Mr Neale is set to die of shame just hearing it!"

All this was said in a whisper so piercing that the entire table heard it and was at once put to the trouble of pretending they had not. Captain Neale shot Mrs Glasspoole a hateful look, which did not discompose her in the least; she smiled at him.

"What sort of powers is it meant to have, captain?" asked Emma. She could not give herself any credit for her motives in asking: truth be told, she had not at all liked the way Captain Neale spoke of his wife and was pursuing the line of questioning most likely to aggravate him.

"My grandfather did not know," he said. He had set down his knife and fork and was sitting upright and stiff as a poker.

"But have you never been curious? Even a theoretical magician could have made an attempt at tracing its history for you, and there has never been a shortage of theoretical magicians."

"Why should I be curious?" he answered between his teeth. "I have already said I am no magician. Why should I chase worthless knowledge?"

It was sufficiently clear to everyone listening that Captain Neale had had no wish to expose his spurious claim to scrutiny. Driving the point further would have been needless cruelty; Emma let the conversation pass on. For the rest of the supper she tried to engage Mrs Neale's attention but found it heavy going. The lady displayed no conversational resources; she seemed hardly present in the world. Emma almost suspected her of being under an enchantment: perhaps the stone was a genuine magical artefact after all, despite its fabricated origin.

 

No sooner had the women removed to the sitting room than Miss Glasspoole rounded on Emma with an astonishing glare of fury burning in her eyes. "Well, did that relieve your feelings, my lady?" she said. "What good do you think you have done? I know all about your fine notions – but when have they ever helped a woman in distress?"

Before Emma could respond, Mrs Neale hurriedly placed one pretty, dimpled hand on Miss Glasspoole's shoulder and said, "Diana, please. Leave her ladyship be. There is no need for this."

It was the longest speech she had made the entire evening. Her voice was deep and musical; out of the company of the gentlemen, she seemed to take fresh interest in life. It did have almost the appearance of a spell being lifted from her – though Emma was given to suspect a more mundane cause.

Miss Glasspoole cast another glare at Emma but subsided.

"I do not know what you have heard of my notions," said Emma, "but if Captain Neale is an unkind husband I know a number of persons who can advise Mrs Neale on seeking a separation. Since my life has been my own, I have been at some trouble securing a wide and useful acquaintance."

"And if you had been paying attention, Diana, you would also have heard of her ladyship's refuge for abused women," said Mrs Glasspoole. This was unexpected; while the refuge had been in operation for half a year now, respectable persons finding themselves in company with Emma invariably avoided mention of it, perhaps out of the fear that she would demand subscriptions – not so unreasonable a fear, as it chanced. Mrs Glasspoole continued: "It is in the North of England, I believe. Do you have many ladies living there presently?"

Emma said, "As I hold privacy my highest concern in the scheme, madam, I cannot even disclose so much to you. Please believe it is no reflection on your character."

"Oh! there is no need to worry about my feelings, my lady. I understand you perfectly."

"It is all beside the point," said Miss Glasspoole. "A separation would be useless. Margaret has no fortune of her own. She would have been reduced to the utmost depths of penury by now had she not married the captain."

"And I should not have met you," said Mrs Neale, "so you see my marriage has not been an unmitigated evil."

"Is it really – " began Arabella. Everyone in the room turned to her; she had been silent throughout the brief confrontation. "Pardon me," she said, "but this hardly seems to be the place to bring up such distressing topics. Consider the gentlemen – they are sure to be here soon."

"That is true," said Emma. "Shall we invite the present company to call upon us another day at the cottage, that we may continue the conversation in security?"

The invitation was left open in the cooling atmosphere of the room. A less strained discourse gradually resumed, and soon had as a welcome topic the worrying change in the weather: for a storm had come up unexpectedly, sheeting rain against the windows and illumining the grounds with flashes of lightning; the drum and rattle of thunder came from all directions.

"If this racket keeps up," said Mr Barry, leading in the gentlemen a short time later, "we will have to offer you all our hospitality for the night. I expect we have beds enough to fill the need."

"We will return in my carriage," said Captain Neale. "David is not the steadiest fellow, but I have driven in worse weather than this. I can answer for our safety."

"And the comfort of your lady?" asked Mr Barry.

"Is entrusted to my keeping. You do not doubt, I suppose, that I know best how to fulfil my appointed duty?"

Mr Barry could see he had given offence but failed to understand how. He murmured something approaching an apology and would next have consulted the lady herself, had she not retreated to a corner of the room.

There ensued a general intention of making up a pair of bridge tables, with Mrs Glasspoole and Mr Barry each attempting to outdo the other in courteously offering to sit out.

Outside of the general discussion, Arabella said to Emma, "I do not like this storm. It is unnatural. There was no hint of it when we walked over here."

"Do you think it a magical storm?"

"Do you?"

"I think – "

She got no further; in the stillness between two deafening booms of thunder, there was a cry heard in the room – an almost sobbing gasp. Emma did not know where to look at first; but her eye happening to fall on Miss Glasspoole she saw that young woman staring in concern at Mrs Neale. Soon everyone knew _she_ had been the source of the cry. She turned slowly from the picture she had been studying, or pretending to study. Her face was empty of all expression; one hand was held clasped at her throat.

"Where is the stone?" said Captain Neale at once.

The necklace was gone.

Mrs Neale made no reply.

In a low, steely voice her husband said, "What have you done with it, woman?"

She shook her head; her hand unclasped, dropped, was raised again to the place where the stone had been.

Arabella, frightened despite not absolutely daring to anticipate violence, went to Mrs Neale's side before her husband could reach her. "Do you remember when you had it last?" she asked, gently. "Perhaps the clasp broke."

"I... I do not recall." The words came out as if forced through too fine a sieve.

"You had it when we left the dining room – you recall, Miss Glasspoole?"

"She was wearing it when we got here," said Miss Glasspoole, a little unwillingly.

"Then it must have fallen here," said Arabella. "We will search for it. You will see; it will turn up."

But it did not turn up; though the entire party searched avidly, less Mrs Neale, who stood at the window like a wooden carving of a woman. Though the furniture and carpets were moved, though the floor was pored over and minutely checked for cracks, though every cushion in the room was lifted and shaken, though Mr Barry got down on all fours and put his nose to the parquet in the intentness of his search, the necklace was not found.

Captain Neale was livid with anger: he was almost too angry to speak. Short bursts of abuse, barked at his wife or the room at large, were all he could manage. It was this, Arabella thought, that made what should have been a silly escapade feel so deadly serious. He was more attached to the stone than she had realised; or perhaps only very quick to condemn his wife's conduct on all points: for it was now abundantly clear to her that Captain Neale was not at all a congenial husband.

Mr Barry, the last of the searchers, at length gave up. "I am sorry, captain," he said. "It is not here."

"Of course it is not," said Captain Neale. "It has been stolen."

"Stolen! My dear man! Who do you accuse?"

The captain's face worked in silence. His nostrils flared. He seemed on the point of bursting with accusation. At last he said, "I should first examine your servants, sir. All servants steal, if temptation comes their way."

"Well..." Mr Barry began.

But here Mrs Glasspoole's irrepressible tones broke in: "Robert! How can you even listen to the suggestion! I would answer for the characters of all the servants in this household as surely as for the characters of my own children. Besides, who has been near us since we came here? Mrs Bain? You don't suspect good Mrs Bain of being tempted by a foolish trinket like that? She has been here since old Miss Barry's day!"

"Well, now, madam..." said Mr Barry.

"If I must dismiss the servants from my consideration," said Captain Neale, "then the answer is clear – that wretched female has taken it."

"Who do you...?"

But the captain had so far gathered his faculties as to point at his chosen suspect – and it was Emma he pointed at.

 

"Cacophony" was hardly adequate a word to describe the aftermath of this gesture – between the storm still wailing to be let in outside and the voices raised in alarm and indignation within, Emma thought her head would split in two. Arabella came to her side, took her hand and gave her a worried smile. The noise went on long enough for Emma to grow bored. When at last the better part of the combatants began to weary and fall to dull murmurs, Mr Barry cut through the remaining raised voices with his own boom: "I am truly sorry you have come here to be insulted, my lady. I hope you may not take it as a reflection upon us."

"You take the accusation with remarkable coolness," said Mr Neale; it was impossible to tell whether he condemned or admired Emma's coolness.

"It is more likely she is shocked," said Mrs Glasspoole. "Shock often takes ladies this way. It is too bad of you, captain."

"Neither one nor the other," said Emma, fighting to repress a smile. "I am not shocked, and my coolness is nothing to wonder at. For, you see, I am secure in my own mind that I did not take the necklace – and, further, I know who did take it."

The silence following this statement was as profound as the din in the wake of the accusation had been. Even the storm seemed to hush to listen.

Captain Neale was the first to recover. Sneeringly, he said, "I suppose mother wit has given you the answer?"

"No, sir," she said. "It was my own observations this evening, and a few surmises about the characters of the individuals concerned, that have opened to me the truth."

"And will you share this truth with us?"

"Were there only a question of your comfort and myself standing accused, I might let you wait until the morning and handle the matter privately. But there are other considerations in play, so I must act now. Madam?" she said, holding out her hand to Mrs Glasspoole. "You have had your joke now. It is time put an end to it."

The company turned in fascinated horror to Mrs Glasspoole, who grew very white and then very red by turns. With one hand she reached under her bonnet. She drew out the necklace. She wavered a moment, then put the necklace into Emma's outstretched hand.

"How did you guess?" she said.

"Yes, Lady Pole," said Miss Glasspoole in gasping voice, "do tell us, please."

Emma found holding the necklace a peculiarly uncomfortable experience: the stone hummed with a vibration that travelled up her entire arm; there was a desperate spark alive inside it, trying to take root in her mind. It was a struggle for her not to cast it away at once, and instead to give it over decorously to Captain Neale. "You would do better to keep it with you in future, sir. Evidently your temper is somewhat harmed by entrusting it to the care of another."

He gave her a short bow. He could not bring himself to speak.

"As for how I knew... To begin with, I was entirely convinced that this storm – you hear how it is already almost calm – was not of natural origin. Mrs Strange confirmed my opinion. We have both had some experience in magic, as all assembled know. Once I knew the stone had been taken, probability suggested it was the cause of the storm – and accordingly it must have been taken before the gentlemen came in. I knew I had not taken it; I could not imagine my dear Mrs Strange would have; that left me the choice between Mrs Glasspoole and her daughter – leaving aside the possibility that Mrs Neale had hidden it for her own purposes, which I felt sure was not the case. You see it was not a difficult problem I had before me."

"Yet I think," said Mr Barry, "a high-spirited young woman would be the more natural suspect? How came you to settle on Mrs Glasspoole?"

"Miss Glasspoole might play a joke on Captain Neale – but I do not believe for a moment she would do it at the expense of causing distress to Mrs Neale. Mrs Glasspoole, I am sorry to bring this out in public. As I said, had not other considerations forced my hand, I should have kept quiet, and come to you privately in the morning. You did not appreciate the risks, I think. You only wanted to annoy the captain, and saw the easiest way of doing it. I am not innocent of that motive myself," she added, with a nod to Miss Glasspoole.

"And why all these womenfolk should want to annoy me!" said Captain Neale. "I, who have never done them any harm!"

"There now, George," said Mr Neale. "This is as satisfactory a resolution as you could wish. Shall we make our excuses to our good host and take ourselves off?"

"Must you go?" said Mr Barry. He sounded quite forlorn at the prospect of his party breaking up early.

"We are leaving at once," said Captain Neale. He strode from the room.

In a moment Mr Neale, with a rather awkward bow to the room at large, followed him.

Mrs Neale hesitated. She glanced at Mr Barry, as though weighing the impact of his presence. Then, pressing Emma's hand, she said, "You know what gratitude I must feel, my lady. May I call upon you soon to express it?"

"Whenever you wish, of course," said Emma.

"We will be only too happy to receive you," said Arabella.

Mrs Neale curtsied, embraced Miss Glasspoole, and fled.

"My word!" said Mr Barry. He shook his head. He widened his eyes. "Oh! what an evening!"

"So it was magical after all!4" said Mrs Glasspoole. "The lucky – " And whatever word she had been about to utter, she cut it short at a wondering glance from her daughter.

"Mama, how could you have? After everything we said! I thought you understood!"

There was going to be a scene. Arabella felt it. That being the case, the only thing she and Emma could decently do was leave at once. Accordingly she made excuses for the both of them, and they left, Emma reminding Mrs Glasspoole that she would call in the morning to see Mrs Barry.

The storm had passed off. The evening air was cold and fresh, with a smell of soft spring rain in it, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Half a moon shone through a last veil of purple clouds.

Arabella and Emma walked back to the cottage arm in arm, and not a word was spoken between them.

 

The walk had given Arabella a chance to turn over the evening's events; she found she had some questions, but before she could ask them something had to be done about the state of their shoes, stockings, and skirts – for the storm had made the ground exceedingly soft and muddy, and all the dirt between Hazel Grove and Land's End Cottage seemed to have stuck to them as they walked. Arabella could not be easy until they had both removed the offending articles, consigned them to Mary's care, changed into their dressing gowns, and been seated before the fire with glasses of brandy to warm them.

Emma laughed. "I am glad for _you_ to preserve your health, Arabella, but you know it makes no difference to me. I shall live to be ninety-four whatever I do."

"And if I enjoy making a fuss of you?" asked Arabella.

"In that case, by all means carry on." And Emma allowed her glass to be refilled and her shawl to be rearranged.

Arabella said, "I hope by such attentions to keep all your ninety-four years from being a burden to you."

"And you are well on your way to it, my dear. Have no fear."

"Just at the moment, though, I would trouble you for an explanation, Emma..."

"Oh? Concerning the late excitement?"

"Yes. I do not think you said all you might have. It was not only the desire to practise a joke upon Captain Neale that made that good lady behave so foolishly?"

"You are right, though I could not have explained that part of my reasoning in that company. You cannot have failed to perceive that Mrs Glasspoole was aiming at a match between Miss Glasspoole and Mr Montague Neale?"

"That much was clear."

"She hoped that taking part in her little drama together would give rise to appropriate feelings in the lady and gentleman. A crude scheme, but just the one I would suspect her to have hopes of."

"But that is monstrous!" said Arabella.

"Perhaps. As a result of public disclosure, though, I do not think Mr Neale will be able to ally himself to that family – not without casting off his brother, at any rate, which I dare say he would not do. I saw no symptoms of excessive regard for Miss Glasspoole."

"So you have deliberately prevented the match – was that well done?"

"I would like your approval on this matter, Arabella, but I tell you frankly that I do not require it."

Arabella did not know what to say. She switched tack. "But still it is such disgraceful behaviour on the old lady's part – how could she? And the harm she might be doing to poor Mrs Neale?"

"She did not happen to think of it."

"And yet, you know, there is evidence you did not mention, shewing her in a better light. She was most assiduous in keeping blame away from anyone else – she was very stern with Mr Barry for allowing the captain to suspect the servants – and when he accused you..."

"Yes. She is a good woman. I have always suspected it, and now I know it to be so. But the good may be thoughtless, and even foolish. Goodness moved by foolishness can lead the best of people to cruelty."

Arabella was quiet for a long moment after this, as all the warmth drained out of her. "You mean me," she said at last. "All those years I thought I was doing you good, I was forever hurting you with my foolishness."

"I meant no such thing!" exclaimed Emma. She put down her glass and took Arabella's hands. "You must not think so. At worst you were only ignorant, with no chance of knowing you were so. I accepted your apology once; that conversation is behind us; I shall have no more. It is over now."

"Is it?"

"It is behind us," said Emma, firmly. "We are together in England, with all our lives ahead of us to spend in rational happiness and useful occupation. In time we will come to a more perfect understanding. We have not made such a bad start – do you agree?"

"You know I do."

"That is well. Now, shall we take ourselves off to bed?"

"That is the best thing to do."

And they did so.

 

Arabella slept rather later than was her wont the next morning. She was surprized when she woke to find Emma not only already awake, but having breakfasted and gone out to the garden to coax a renegade trellis into alignment.

Standing in the doorway, Arabella said, "Did not Albert offer to take care of that for you?"

"He did," said Emma, looking away from her work momentarily, "but why should I let him, when I am equal to it myself?" And with a last deft twist of wire, she released the structure and had the satisfaction of seeing it keep steady in its position.

"You are a marvel," said Arabella. "When were you up? I did not hear you rise."

"Oh, at sunrise, or thereabouts." She shook the dirt from her apron and removed it on her way into the cottage. "I have written to Childermass concerning this stone – it is not safe in Captain Neale's hands, and Childermass will know how to relieve him of it. And I had a note from Maria Barry not long ago – she is well – she will see me today. I confess I am anxious to get a glimpse of her."

"You do not suspect she is being mistreated, surely?"

"I suspect nothing."

"I cannot believe that Mrs Glasspoole would let her daughter be mistreated. Nor that Mr Barry would –"

"Arabella, I suspect nothing. I am anxious to see her; that is all."

Arabella saw she had touched the old wound. Having had a pleasant but not overly warm relationship with her own mother, it always astonished her how distressed Emma could become at the commonplace suggestion that mothers would always do right by their children. It was sobering to realise on how many points she could still inadvertently hurt her companion; but as Emma herself had said, they had both still a way to go in perfecting their understanding of each other, and they had time enough in which to do it.

Emma stayed long enough to see Arabella sit down to breakfast.

Then she made the walk to the great house alone.

It was the third such walk she had made in a brief span. She diverted herself by comparing her sensations on the prior instances to her sensations now; she noticed each tree and stile in her path, the way the morning light touched the landscape, the exact point when the house came into sight over a slight rise. She walked even faster than she might have normally; she liked to be out with Arabella, but always found herself slowing her pace that her companion might not tire too quickly: Arabella had _not_ had preternatural energy bestowed upon her, which Emma could not help but think was a bare minimum of compensation for their ordeal. As she walked she called forth the memory of the young Maria Glasspoole, but the image was so vague as to almost meld with the general idea of a small girl. It was not to be supposed Mrs Barry had any clearer recollection of her: they would meet as strangers.

A very short time sufficed to bring her to the house. She felt a restlessness upon her, and hoped the ground would dry under the morning sun enough to permit her to ride later in the day; she would have need of the exertion.

She found Mrs and Miss Glasspoole sitting in the same room together, though at opposite ends and engaged upon different solitary tasks: Miss Glasspoole was writing away furiously, spattering ink as she went; Mrs Glasspoole was reading.

There was a certain coolness in both their greetings to Emma, which she was not surprized at. Mrs Glasspoole got over the awkwardness first and offered to conduct Emma to Mrs Barry's chamber. She left her at the door, saying, "Go on in. She is up and expecting you."

The room was a cosy one, a little cluttered with furniture – including a number of very orderly bookshelves sagging under their load of books and trinkets – and somewhat overwhelmed by the double domination of a large colourful rug on the floor and a magnificent recessed window set into one wall. Mrs Barry was seated in the window. On Emma's entrance, she rose.

There was nothing very remarkable in her appearance. She was rather tall, though not so tall as her mother. She was wrapped in a thick shawl, under which her dress appeared plain and functional. She wore no cap, and her hair had been prettily arranged; it was a soft light brown colour; as a child of seven, she had been very fair. She was neither beautiful nor plain; her countenance in the main displayed good nature and just a shadow of weariness.

"It is good of you to come see me, my lady," she said. "Will you sit with me?"

They sat together on the spacious window seat. The window commanded an excellent view of the adjacent grove.

"I saw you riding yesterday," said Mrs Barry. "You are a pleasure to watch."

She kept her gaze cast down as she spoke, but did not seem troubled. There was a lightness, an eager interest in her manner that relieved many of Emma's shapeless doubts.

"Thank you," she said. "You would not have been so pleased watching me when I first arrived here – or if you had, it would have been only as a reflection on my ineptness. I had last ridden over half my lifetime ago, and never so actively then as now. But I seem to have got the idea of it."

"You look quite wild upon a horse. I was almost afraid watching you. I think I should have been afraid, if I had been at supper last night – my mother has told me all about it."

"Then it is no wonder you think me frightening. I was not very gentle with your mother." But, thought Emma, she was not about to apologize for it, not being sorry in the least.

Mrs Barry shrugged. "I dare say you could have done worse."

"Do you mind my asking why you were not of the company last night?"

"I'd have expected my mother and Robert to make the usual excuses."

"They did," said Emma, "but..."

"But?"

"One should not take a bystander's account as truth on such matters. It is irresponsible."

Mrs Barry laughed. "You _do_ frighten me, my lady. From the way you say it, and from all I have heard of your recent career, I know you have notions of responsibility beyond anything I have ever aspired to. A certain considerateness in domestic matters – such as not ruining my clothes or breaking too many dishes, or knowing my husband does not like to hear sermons read in the evening, for instance – _that_ I can wrap my mind around. The sort of all-encompassing care your actions reflect..."

Emma was almost embarrassed, at being both seen through so clearly and estimated so highly. She said, "I was prevented for many years from taking responsibility for myself – and then – all that time I had an incomparable example before me. I would have had to be dull indeed not to have profited by it."

"I... see?" said Mrs Barry.

"Never mind," said Emma. And briefly she cast her mind out to whatever corner of all the worlds Stephen Black had taken himself off to, and she wondered.

"Well," said Mrs Barry, taking her at her word, "if you are really interested, then? I have no objection to speaking of it."

"Please go on."

"It is only that I cannot stand to hear too many voices at once – that sometimes very small sounds trouble me – and going into company is often out of my power altogether. It tires me so I sometimes swoon, or seem to swoon. I have been so from a child, but I do not think anyone noticed it then. Only when my time came to be 'out' I found I – could not. Balls were abhorrent to me. Dinner parties were a nightmare. I could not learn card games. I would be unable to leave my room for days after forcing myself to attend an event. Now it is not so bad. I hardly feel it. My mother and Robert do not understand, but they are kindness itself. The very worst they do is tell perfect strangers of my peculiarities – and as I do not mind that, they can indulge their little flaw in perfect happiness."

"And your sister?"

"She is very young still." There was an unhappy twist to her face.

Emma said, "It is a common affliction. Many have been known to recover from it, given time."

"I sincerely hope Diana may be of that number."

"I see nothing to prevent it."

They spoke together a little longer, until Mrs Barry indicated that she would prefer to be left alone. Emma said that she had enjoyed making her acquaintance; she asked to bring Arabella to meet her sometime in the future; permission was gladly given; they parted on excellent terms. Emma's mind was wholly relieved of anxiety on Mrs Barry's behalf.

She no longer felt the need of going for one of the long, reckless rides that had become her habit. She felt, for once, that she would rather walk. And she walked all the way around the grove, which was quite a sizable property, only just arriving at the cottage, as she thought, in time for dinner.

There ahead of her she found Mrs Neale, very pale and wan, with a travelling box at her side.

Arabella said, "She has only just arrived..."

And Mrs Neale said, "My lady, I have to take up all your offers. Will you put me in touch with your useful acquaintance?"

And Emma, who could not be responsible for all the world but would do her best to help this one woman, said, "I am entirely at your service."

* * *

 

1The previous tenants had left behind signs of their occupation besides the sorry state of the garden: a torn slipper, several rolls of linen bandage, a number of sheets of paper covered in intricate designs that puzzled the eye, and a small collection of books. One of the books was a guide to botanical illustration. Throughout their occupation of the cottage, Arabella found a rich source of amusement in making sketches of Emma's plants according to the guide's precepts; the results were neither lifelike nor technically accomplished. Still Emma displayed the finest specimens on her desk, and kept the rest carefully arranged in a file.

2Aside from seeking subscriptions from the fashionably wealthy for the Women's Refuge at Starecross Hall, Emma was at this time much engaged in petitioning the government to change the laws relating to divorce, which favoured the husband in the case to an extreme degree; she had brought over a few politicians to her cause, not all out of conviction: at least one feared Emma would wreak on his career the same utter devastation she had brought with such apparent ease upon her husband's.

3Some part of these events is worth repeating. The most recent owner before Mr Barry had been a Miss Jane Barry, a cousin of his father. She had acquired the property after a lengthy legal duel, which depended upon the interpretation of a poorly-worded clause in her grandfather's will. The clause in question either did or did not suggest that female heirs were precluded from succeeding to the estate. Eventually the case was resolved in Miss Barry's favour; she took up residence at once and until her death was an able and well-liked landlord and neighbour, though her adherence to the spinster state raised a certain amount of ill-will against her. As Mr Barry's father had been the loser by this outcome, there had been a total breach between the families for many years, until Mr Barry, who was not of a resentful streak, had reestablished friendly relations; Miss Barry had left the now unencumbered estate to him outright in recognition, as her will said, "of his easy temper and only too open mind."

4This circumstance is not so unlikely as it may appear; during the waning of the Golden Age of English Magic, all the minor magicians of England, desperate to preserve their powers, infused every precious and semi-precious stone they could find with magical virtue despite knowing the foolhardiness of such a proceeding. Agates are a fine natural conductor of magic; any latent talent working upon a lightly infused stone may cause remarkable results, as the case of Mrs Glasspoole amply illustrates.


End file.
